


Tear the World Down

by karatam



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-11
Updated: 2011-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-14 16:26:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/151218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karatam/pseuds/karatam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Times they saved the world, and also times they didn't</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tear the World Down

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters belong to Terry Goodkind, Sam Raimi and Rob Tapert. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from this work of fiction.  
> A/N: These are all unconnected scenarios stemming from the same situation. Thanks to Lynne for looking this over. Title is from a song by 'We Are The Fallen', the final chapter's title is a quote from a speech given by Queen Elizabeth I.

****  
Prologue   


Kahlan turns her head and catches a glimpse of a sword coming towards her from her blind side. Richard and Cara are supposed to be behind her, but they had lost contact in the melee. Kahlan ducks quickly, the blade whistling by her left ear, and she swings her dagger backward without looking. She grimaces as the dagger meets resistance.

She straightens and glances quickly around herself. The Banelings near her position are mostly fallen, some bloody, some with no marks at all. Her eyes search desperately around the entryway of the People's Palace for her fellow fighters and come to rest on the only other living person around. A young boy is crouched against the wall, his hand clutching his belly and his shoulders shaking. Kahlan moves towards him, dropping her daggers to the ground.

"Dan, are you alright?" Her voice comes out far too loud in the silent room.

The boy looks up and Kahlan can see blood dripping from his mouth. "Mother Confessor," his eyes squeeze shut and then open again, "I'm sorry, we couldn't hold them back."

"It's going to be fine, Dan. You were amazingly brave." Her eyes glance down at Dan's stomach, sees the blood seeping past his fingers and soaking his shirt. Her lips tighten; she knows he'll never make it, not with the resources the resistance has. "Dan, will you let me do something to help you?" She hates that this is the most she can do for him.

His eyes widen - such bright eyes, in a face far too young for war - as he realizes just what she's proposing. "Please, Mother Confessor, it hurts too much." Kahlan's hand comes up and rests against his collarbone. His eyes drift shut and he smiles for the first time in days, "I'll be able to see Ma and Da and little Beth. Is it happy when you die, Mother Confessor?"

Kahlan isn't sure, she's not sure about anything anymore. "Yes, Dan. It's happy." Her eyes blacken as she feels her power rush through her body and into his. Her head drops and she pants slightly, exhausted. It's been days since she's slept.

"Command me, Confessor" Dan's eyes are fixed on her face, earnest and pleading.

Kahlan rocks back slightly on her heels and closes her eyes - she can't bear to watch this happen. "Be happy, Dan." He smiles. "And go to the Creator, I'll be fine here by myself." She can hear his breathing, stuttering and frail, slow and then stop. She opens her eyes and reaches out to slide his lids shut, leans over to kiss him softly on the forehead. Another one gone.

She rests for a moment, trying to draw strength from a well that ran dry weeks ago. Then the clang of metal on metal reaches her ears and she realizes she's needed. She grabs her daggers from the floor and runs down the corridor leading to the battle.

She pauses in the doorway, watching to figure out where she is most needed, where she can help.

And then she sees it.

Richard is fighting three Banelings at the same time, focused on get his sword up in time to block every blow. He doesn't see a fourth one moving behind him and raising his sword.

"Richard!" Kahlan hears it, and then realizes it's her screaming his name.

He looks up and meets her eyes, the corner of his mouth moving up in the beginning of a smile even in this situation.

Metal flashes through the air.

"NO!" This time Kahlan knows it can't be her yelling, because she can't even breathe. Richard's eyes widen and his grip on the Sword of Truth loosens, dropping to the ground a second before Richard does.

Disregarding the fighting going on all around her, she runs to where Richard fell. She drops to her knees beside him and gently brushes his hair away from his eyes - she had meant to give him a haircut, but there never seemed to be enough time. "Richard? Richard? Open your eyes, Richard." Her throat wants to close, but she forces the words out.

His eyes flutter open, pained and regretful. "Kahlan," the rattle in his chest evident, "I can't move. I'm sorry I never got the chance to-" He is cut off by his own coughing, blood staining his lips.

"Shhh, Richard, you'll get your chance. I love you." She carefully kisses his lips and pulls back to see him smile.

"I love you, Kahlan, more than anything in the world." And then his eyes close. They don't open again.

Kahlan's mouth works, trying to express something, anything, but nothing happens. The battle continues around them, the sounds getting dimmer as the fighters dwindle. She lowers her forehead to his and grips his shoulders tight, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. Tears run quietly down her face.

Eventually it is silent.

A red-gloved hand falls on her shoulder and she tilts her head to look up into Cara's face. Blue eyes slide from hers to Richard's face and for the first time, Kahlan sees Cara falter. Cara drops to one knee and reaches out an unsteady hand, touches Richard's limp hand with hers. After a moment she says, "I can't give him the breath of life," her voice cracks just enough for Kahlan to notice. "He's gone."

They both stay kneeling at his side, trying to process what happened and failing. Cara stands abruptly, stares down at Kahlan for a long moment, then turns on her heel and walks away, gripping her agiels tightly. She pushes through the circle of members of the resistance and makes her way outside, face a cold mask of anger.

Kahlan watches her go, then turns and presses her face into Richard's hair, breathing him in and to memorize everything she can about him.

The Seeker of Truth is dead.

//

 

** Hands of Power  
**

Kahlan holds Richard's body close and hears, almost as if from a distance, heartbroken sobs break the terrible silence. Richard is gone, and there is nothing that can bring him back to her.

She closes her eyes tightly as she feels the familiar sensation of her magic welling up inside of her, tearing down the painstakingly created barriers in her mind. Her world is going completely wrong, nothing is making any sense, and a Confessor's magic is as natural as breathing. It is comforting and known. It is real. It can make the pain go away.

Her eyes go black and too late Kahlan realizes what is happening. She scrabbles for control, but is swept away in the raging torrent of her own magic. The Con Dar takes control.

The crowd steps back in surprise when Kahlan's head whips up and her lips are pulled back in a feral snarl. No one watching has ever seen a Confessor in the Con Dar and do not know how to react to their normally sweet-natured leader in such a state. A few swords are loosened in their scabbards and more than a few fists tighten on weapon hilts. No one makes a move toward the kneeling figure.

Kahlan slowly stands and moves to the nearest person, watching their every movement. The man looks back at her with wide eyes, holding his spear tightly across his chest. The Confessor reaches out a hand and the man watches it as it makes its way towards his neck.

“Kahlan, no!” A yell reverberates though the stone chamber and Kahlan turns to see Cara running towards her, an Agiel gripped in each hand. A Mord’Sith possesses the ability to deflect magic, but there is no Lord Rahl and not even Cara is strong enough to resist the Mother Confessor under the influence of the Con Dar.

A wave of magic sweeps across the room, straight into Cara’s chest. The blonde sways on her feet as her eyes swirl with black before clearing. She falls to her knees and looks up at Kahlan with eyes full of worship and adoration. The rest of the crowd follows her example.

As one they murmur, “Command me, Confessor.”

/

Kahlan sits on her throne, a hand rubbing her temples to try and dispel the headache that has been plaguing her. 

"Do you wish to see any more supplicants today, Mother Confessor?" Her aide stands deferentially to her side, a folder of papers awaiting her signature in his hand. 

She waves her hand, gesturing for him to give her the folder. "No, that is enough for today. Please tell them that I will be glad to see them tomorrow morning." He bows and leaves the room. Leafing through the papers, Kahlan barely registers the small click of the door at the back of the room closing. 

"Mother Confessor?"

Kahlan looks up to see Cara standing beside her. "Cara," she says, "I didn't expect you back from the borders so soon."

"The bandits were easily quelled, my lady, and so I returned as quickly as possible. May I do anything to please you?"

Kahlan winces at the words, things the real Cara would never say. When she awoke from the Con Dar to see what she had done, she had reacted with pure horror. To see what the magic she had unleashed had done to her closest friend had been almost more than she could bear. Kahlan had considered the only way to break a Confessor's hold, but there were no other Confessors to take on her responsibilities to the people if she was gone. Even though it hurt to look at Cara and her entire army, Kahlan had pushed on and tried to keep Cara occupied elsewhere. She couldn't handle looking into Cara's blank eyes. It hurt too much.

"No, Cara. I'm fine. Why don't..." Kahlan trails off and reaches out to push a lock of hair behind Cara's ear. "I wish it wasn't like this, Cara." The blond in front of her gazes back at her with little expression. "Actually, there is something that you can do for me."

"Whatever pleases my mistress."

"There will come a time when there are other Confessors in the Midlands. When they are old enough, I will need you to do something for me." Kahlan takes a deep breath. "I will need you to kill me, then you and your men will be free from my magic. Do you swear it, Cara?"

Cara nods seriously, her fist rising to press against her heart in a gesture of a promise and her boots clicking together smartly. She moves to stand behind her shoulder, eyes watching everywhere at once.

Feeling far too tired, Kahlan rubs her temples again and turns back to her papers. There is still so much for her to do.

//

 

** The Raven Circles  
**

The sky is burning.

Cara hasn’t seen a real blue sky in weeks, hasn’t seen a cloud in much longer than that. The forest she is sitting in has no leaves, no green to break up the intimidating landscape of red, brown and black. There are no birds singing, no rabbits running nearby, no brooks making gurgling noises in the distance. If Cara had to guess, she would say that she is the only living thing left at all.

There is a beautiful sword strapped to her back and two familiar daggers tucked into her boots. They are all she has left of the two most important people in her life. All she has left of two of the most important people in the world. The Seeker is dead and the Mother Confessor followed soon after. The two champions of all that was good and light in the world are gone, and so the people lost hope.

It was hard to get people to trust her in her red leather and almost familiar face. She was known as a Mord’Sith and everybody feared a Mord’Sith, bringer of pain and destruction. She had no inspiring speeches, no comforting touches; she had only focus and an unsettling intensity.

The people of the Midlands, Hartland and D’Hara started dying by the thousands, and Cara couldn’t save them all, couldn’t save any of them, not truly. Every time she killed a Baneling, another five seemed to spring up in their place, and they were able to go more than a day without killing, allowing them to spread farther into the countryside, leaving death, fire and terror in their wake. Cara followed, always looking for anything – anyone – that could help her defeat the Keeper. No one ever came.

The thought of just giving up had crossed her mind on more than one occasion, but she knew Richard and Kahlan would never give up, never admit defeat, and so she couldn’t either. She had failed them both, but she could keep going, keep trying to beat back the tide of the Keeper’s minions and magic.

She has more scars now. A jagged one across her left shoulder blade from when she a deflected a blow meant for a child huddling in the corner of his burning home. A long burn running down her right arm from when a Sister of the Dark was able to get a burst of flame beyond Cara’s anti-magic barrier. She can’t feel two of her fingers on her left hand from when she was captured and her hand was broken as part of torture – she had merely laughed in their faces and kneed the lead interrogator between the legs. And a small scar lifting one side of her upper lip slightly higher than the other from an arrow that got too close.

Sometimes, in her more wistful moments, she tells the empty night sky that the scar matches the one Kahlan had. She thinks of it as something else to remember the woman by.

/

Cara sits in the forest and looks at the rift before her, green magic snapping at the air. The rifts were appearing every day now, cutting Cara off from everything. This one opened earlier that day, and Cara had sat down against a tree and stared at it, thinking, for hours. Her path in every direction is cut off by widening rifts, so she has only one choice left.

Into the rift, into the unknown, into certain death; her only choice, and one that she had not been looking forward to making.

A movement in the sky catches her eye and she peers upwards into the blazing sun to see a lone raven circling above her, looking for food.

“I suppose there isn’t much to eat out here, is there, raven?” Cara digs through her pack and pulls out the last piece of flatbread from its wrapping. “You’re the first living thing I’ve seen in days now. And I guess you’ll probably be the last.” She finishes off the bread and pushes off the ground to stand straight. Taking out a thin strip of leather, she gathers her hair back and braids it into the familiar twist of a Mord’Sith. If she is to meet her death, she will do so with honour.

Cara walks to the edge of the gaping rift and stands at the edge. Wind blows loose tendrils of hair across her forehead and she takes a steeling breath.

“Richard, Kahlan, this is for you.” Almost a prayer, mostly a confession, she whispers it to the empty air.

The Sword of Truth comes ringing out of its sheath and Cara steps down into the Underworld.

/

The raven circles the rift for a while before landing beside the discarded pack. It picks through the crumbs and lets out a disappointed cry before flapping upwards to perch on a burned tree limb. Nothing appears for days and the raven is forced to look elsewhere for food.

/

In the depths of the Underworld, a blonde warrior falls in battle. The living are gone, and the dead shall inherit the world. Wreathed in green flame, a towering figure steps over the Mord’Sith and advances toward the light of day.

A voice, deep as thunder and edged with steel, echoes through the caverns, “I am  _free_!”

//

 

** The Strength To Carry On  
**

It was nearly a year ago when Cara’s world changed completely when Richard died.

Richard’s death had changed everything. Cara had lost her Lord Rahl, her commander, her leader. Her Agiels, weapons that had stayed by her side for most of her life, no longer worked. All Cara had to hang onto was her red leather and Kahlan.

Then, four months ago, it changed again when Cara failed to protect Kahlan from an assassin’s blade.

Cara had been standing next to the window, keeping an eye on the courtyard, body tense and ready for action. Kahlan was seated at a desk with her lieutenants, occasionally directing a question to Cara without looking up. Kahlan had once again donned her white Confessor’s dress, a beacon of light in a darkening world, and she looked every bit the part.

The door opened and Cara’s hands dropped to the knives tucked into her belt, then relaxed as she recognized the servant who slipped in, holding a tray of slightly stale bread and a few slices of cheese. Cara turned her head back to the window. Her most crucial mistake.

A scream sounded behind Cara and as she spun, she caught a flash of silver in the corner of her eye. She made to jump towards Kahlan, to protect her from harm, but she was stopped by a blade burying itself in her chest. Cara’s body recoiled and hit the ground, her vision already growing blurred. She tried to get to Kahlan, to the group of people surrounding where the Mother Confessor should be. Two of the men wrestle the servant-assassin to the ground and grab a bloody dagger out of his hand.

Before her eyes close, too heavy to stay open any longer, Cara sees Kahlan’s eyes, full of pain and what looks like an apology. Cara nearly screams when those blue eyes close, because she knows that they won’t open again. Her world goes black.

/

When Cara wakes, tucked into a small bed in a dimly lit room, she is alone. She immediately lurches upright, ignoring the nearly blinding pain lancing through her chest. She twists and places her bare feet on the floor, taking a testing step to determine if she can stay on her feet. Her knives are sitting on the table by the bed and she grabs them before leaving the room.

She walks out into a room full of tables and faces she recognizes. “Arton! What’s going on?” She barks into the suddenly silent room.

A man with a sword strapped to his back responds after a moment of hesitation, “We had to move locations. The man who killed Kah-” He cuts himself off, shuffling his feet nervously. “I’m sorry; we weren’t able to save the Mother Confessor.” Arton’s eyebrows furrow and he grips the chair in front of him hard enough to whiten his knuckles.

Not a single sound is heard as everyone in the room waits for Cara to speak. The Mord’Sith is for once not dressed in her red leather, and suddenly she just looks like a woman, mourning all the friends she’s ever had. The faces of Richard, Zedd and  _Kahlan_  form in her mind and she bites the inside of her cheek, hard, unwilling to break. Clenching her jaw tightly, she manages to say, “So who is your captain now?”

Arton looks around and then at Cara, simply stating, “Well, you, Cara.”

/

Four months ago, Cara’s life changed with the death of Kahlan, but it is about to change one last time. Cara is going to save the world.

/

Nearly two years after the death of the Seeker, a woman stands alone in a clearing. The sun shines overhead and the green leaves on the trees are beginning to grow toward the sky. The death that had nearly held the world in its grasp had been beaten back; life was taking control once more.

Cara stares up at the sun, letting its warmth wash over her face and she slowly kneels on the ground. Reaching out, she runs a hand over the rough stone of a marker, glancing at the two that flank it. She feels her throat tighten and swallows convulsively to stop the threat of tears, now is not the time.

"I wish you all were still here. You'd know what to do with all these people, they just keep pouring in from everywhere. Where were they when we were looking for recruits? Probably hiding like cowards." She sighs and rubs a hand over her face. "They look to me as their leader, their savoir. I know that I am neither of those things. I am a general, a captain; I'm only good for the violent side of living, I don't know how to deal with people during peace. They need their Mother Confessor, their Seeker and their Wizard; a Mord'Sith does them no good. I'm of half a mind just to leave in the middle of the night, but I know you'd all just glare at me or something equally irritating. Anyways, children follow me everywhere; it's hard to be stealthy."

If she closes her eyes she can picture herself sitting by a campfire, staring over it at familiar faces. She can almost hear Kahlan, Richard and Zedd laughing at her apparent misfortune. "I made sure that there's someone who comes by to make sure this area stays clean. If they don't, they'll be answering to my blade, so they had better keep their word. I'll make sure you always see sunlight."

She pauses, unsure of what to say. Richard and Kahlan would try and make her talk about feelings, but Cara would rather not pour out all of that to an empty clearing; it would be strange. Instead, she turns and digs through her bag until she finds it. Drawing it out, she straightens some of the petals that had bent in her travel and holds it in front of herself awkwardly. "I know these are, were, your favorites, so when I saw them on the way here, I just thought..." She trails off and places the lily on the ground in front of the middle stone.

Cara kneels there for a few more seconds before brushing her hands on her thighs and straightening.  She nods her head sharply and turns on her heel, striding away with purpose. Her legs falter when she reaches the edge of the clearing, and she glances over her shoulder, her eyes looking a little too bright. A horse whinnies in the distance and she turns away.

_Zeddicus Zu'l Zorander, Wizard of the First Order and advisor to all._

_Richard Rahl, Seeker of Truth and defender of the innocent and oppressed._

_Kahlan Amnell, Mother Confessor and the light in the darkness._

As such, the world will remember them.

//

 

** The Breaking Point  
**

Cara slowly drifts towards consciousness, her mind hesitant to leave its safe refuge. She blinks open an eye, the other is swollen shut, and she can feel the recently dried trails of blood streaking her face. She can't really feel the rest of her body.

The sounds of boot heels hitting stone reaches her ears and she manages to tilt her head towards the doorway. A squadron of Mord'Sith file in, making precise lines on either side of the arch. Cara knows who they are guarding before he walks into the room; she can feel his blood magic running through her veins.

"Cara, Cara, Cara." Darken strolls into the room, twirling a dagger between the fingers of his left hand. "It's so strange to think that just a year or two ago, you were my right hand woman." He sighs slightly and then reaches to wards a Mord'Sith plucking her Agiel out of her belt. "I've heard from your...interrogator that you are particularly gifted at withstanding torture, even more so than your sisters."

Cara manages to twist her lips into a sneer, but she knows as well as Darken: everyone has their breaking point, it's just a matter of knowing what that point is. Cara knows hers, she just hopes Darken doesn't.

Darken smiles, the dagger still twirling, and nods to the woman at his right. The hum of an Agiel fills the air and Cara closes her eye once more, steeling herself for what is to come.

The Agiel makes contact with the skin on her collarbone and she can't help the scream that bubbles up in her throat. She just hopes they don't hold it there long enough to break the bone. That would be inconvenient for when she escapes.

/ 

The hands gripping Kahlan’s arms are as tight as iron bands, fingers digging cruelly into her flesh. She can feel the soldiers stiffen as the door to the large throne room begins to open. Darken Rahl steps into the room, twirling a red Agiel around his right index finger by its leather strap.

He walks to the fireplace and stares into the flames for a long moment before turning around to face her. “If you’re quite done trying to beat in the head of all my guards, I’m quite happy to discuss the terms of your surrender.”

Kahlan’s upper lip curls in an instinctual reaction and she spits back at him, “I will not surrender to you, Darken Rahl.” She is about to say more when Darken interrupts her.

“I think I have something that might sway you.” He raises his hand and snaps his fingers. The guards by the door pull the heavy wooden panels open and a quad of Mord’Sith walk in, dragging something behind them.

When the Mord’Sith deposit their bundle on the floor, Kahlan gasps upon realizing that it is in fact a person. Darken smirks and flicks his finger in a silent signal. The lead Mord’Sith reaches down and grasps the person’s hair, wrenching their head up at a painful angle, and it drags a soft moan out of the beaten prisoner. Kahlan recognizes her immediately.

“Oh, Cara.” Kahlan pulls at her captors again but is pushed back by an Agiel to the throat. Cara’s red-rimmed blue eyes find hers and there’s so much pain in them that Kahlan loses her breath. Cara clenches her jaw and nods almost imperceptibly; Kahlan understands what’s she’s trying to say. “The Resistance will not surrender, Darken Rahl, no matter what you do to us. They know that once we are captured to go on without us.”

“Very well. You will be made an example of, the Mother Confessor and her pet Mord’Sith is a prize indeed.”

An Agiel is slammed into the back of her head and Kahlan’s world goes black.  The last thing she sees is Cara’s eyes, wide open and angry.

//

 

****  
Let Tyrants Fear   


Kahlan pulls up the white hood of her Confessor gown, something she hasn't worn in months, not since they had all been forced to run from Aydindril in the middle of the night. That night where the forces of the Keeper had overrun the stronghold of the Midlands, Kahlan's home. Countless lives had been lost, but the one that had hit them hardest was Zedd. The wizard had given himself up to give them all enough time to get out alive.

She is reasonably sure that moment was when everything changed.

Without a wizard of the first order, Richard was the last Seeker. He was Lord Rahl. He was the people's last hope.

Kahlan had seen what a toll it had taken on him, on everyone. Children became soldiers, wives joined their husbands on the front lines and Richard led them all with Kahlan and Cara at his side.

Cara. Kahlan closes her eyes and leans her head back against the cool stone wall of the palace, taking in one last moment before she must cease being Kahlan and become the Mother Confessor, one of the last magic users left. Cara had changed as well. Before that night, she had started opening up, in the tiniest amounts, to Kahlan and Richard and even Zedd. If Kahlan had turned fast enough, sometimes she had been able to catch the hints of a smile on Cara's face before sharp blue eyes caught her looking and the mask of ambivalence slid over her expression. Kahlan had heard her laugh once, but it seems like years ago.

Kahlan pushes off the wall and straightens the gown over hips, rubs her eyes quickly to rid herself of any stray tears. She holds her head high and opens the large doors leading to the courtyard where a pyre had been constructed the night before. She feels her breath catch at the sight, but continues forward. This is her duty.

She isn’t sure how she would continue to fight without Richard and his gentle smile, but she knows that he would want to try. He would want Kahlan to pick up where he left off and champion the side of good. The Mother Confessor within her steps up to the task, but Kahlan, the woman who lost the love of her life, just wants to mourn.

She walks down the stone steps and down through the passage the gathered people make for her. One of the elder resistance members stands by the pyre with a torch clutched in his white knuckled hand, his spine stiff and tense. Kahlan stands beside him and sweeps her eyes over the crowd, looking for one face in particular.

Cara is not there.

Kahlan closes her eyes and lifts her hand to ask for the torch. She holds the rough wood in her hand and wonders one last time whether this is the right thing to do, burning Richard's body. They will be relocating in the morning, and they can't afford to expend the effort in bringing him along, and it has been too long since he died for magic to be of any use to them anymore. She swallows against a thick throat and touches the torch to the wood of the pyre.

/

Cara sits with her back against a tree, her face tipped upwards to get the few rays of light that get through the canopy of the forest. She fiddles with the collar of her tunic; she had stopped wearing her traditional Mord'Sith red leather - it was far too recognizable - but refused to wear a dress, preferring to just wear a tunic and breeches. She's still not used to having some of her movements unconstricted, still moves as though leather will stop her arm if it bends a certain way, still puts aside more time than necessary to get dressed in the mornings.

She takes out her agiels and holds them loosely in her hands, examining them carefully. There is no familiar - comforting - pain shooting through her arms and it just reminds her that she failed.

She failed to protect the Lord Rahl. She failed Richard, Zedd, the people of the Midlands and D'Hara, and she failed Kahlan. Her focusing purpose in life is protecting Lord Rahl and now he's dead.

Cara looks again at her agiels. They're almost useless now, with no blood magic to enable them. She'll need to get a new weapon when she goes back to the palace, maybe a pair of daggers like Kahlan - she's used to fighting with two weapons now - or maybe a sword. An image of Richard holding the sword of truth flashes in her mind and she decides against using a sword at all. She'll talk to the only blacksmith they have later.

The sun is nearly setting when she looks up again and notices the time. The funeral should be over and she might be able to slip in without Kahlan noticing.

She hadn't seen Kahlan since Richard died, can't stand the thought of looking into those blue eyes and seeing that pure heartbreak, unwilling to see that emotion that her failure had put there.

Kahlan and Richard had put so much effort into trying to make Cara feel things. They never understood that she felt everything, saw everything; she just hid it better than they could ever understand, didn't know how to express it even if she wanted to. Keeping her face a blank mask had saved her life countless times as she had grown up, that kind of subconscious training was harder to break than most. It was easier to have no emotions than try to deal with them where others could see.

She feels a single tear fall down her cheek and wipes it away angrily. She has not cried over anyone but her father for as long as she had been a Mord'Sith and refuses to start now. She takes a deep breathe and stands up, sheathing her agiels and turning to face the palace.

She is tempted to just turn around and leave, leaving no trail behind her to track. She could do it, no one would find her, and she has no Lord Rahl to follow. She has no debts of loyalty to anyone left alive, no promises to keep.

Then she remembers a promise she made to Richard long ago.

"Protect her as if she were me."

Cara will not fail him now. She will protect Kahlan to her dying breath.

/

Weeks pass.

The surviving people of D'Hara and the Midlands begin to talk of the near legendary Mother Confessor and her silent bodyguard, a former Mord'Sith.

They talk of how Kahlan and her band of fighters arrive at villages just before a Baneling attack, driving back the enemy and saving the people of the village.

They talk of how Kahlan and her company sometimes seem to simply disappear when the fighting is done, only to reappear a few days later in a different village.

They talk of how sometimes the fighters stay behind to help rebuild, or to help teach the villagers how to fight and usually take away one or two of their young men or women to travel with the fighting company.

They talk of how the Banelings seem to be falling back, of how the living are winning against the dead, of how the Keeper is being driven back by the Mother Confessor.

They talk, but they do not know what is truly happening.

/

Kahlan sits slumped against a tree stump, her feet stretched out to warm by the fire burning a few feet away. Her arm is covering her eyes as Cara kneels beside her, stitching up a cut running across her left bicep.

A hiss escapes from between her clenched teeth and her fingers dig into her thigh muscle, trying to keep from crying out. Silence and quiet are essential.

The Mord’Sith leans down and snips the thread short with her teeth, shifts back on her heels to survey her work. "It's not as pretty as some healers could get it, but it will hold." She carefully folds Kahlan's sleeve down over the wound, concealing it from sight. It would not do for the Mother Confessor to appear injured.

Kahlan lowers her arm from her face and sighs in tense relief, "Thank you, Cara. I'm sure it looks fine. It's not as if I don't already have scars."

Cara grimaces; she knows of those scars, she had stitched many of them up herself. Kahlan sometimes jokes that they are badges of honour, but Cara also sees them as proof that she had repeatedly failed in her task to protect Kahlan. Intellectually, she knew that Kahlan could handle herself and Cara couldn't protect the Confessor from every enemy attack, but it didn't stop her from being disappointed in herself.

By now, Cara is nearly as well known as Kahlan herself. Though she no longer wears her former red leather, both she and Kahlan are being recognized by their near identical twin blades. Cara's knives were longer and she carried them strapped to her thighs, within easy reach, but she still wasn't quite used to them. She had carried agiels for years, and wasn't accustomed to the different balance of blades; that is not to say that she wasn't deadly with her knives in her hands, she was, she just didn't really like it. The hilts feel wrong in her clenched fists and, at the beginning, she was almost killed because she forgot what weapon she was using. A Mord’Sith is not used to using blades, something that cuts instead of only causing pain.

People rarely hear Cara talk in public; she prefers to let Kahlan do the talking while she stares at people intimidatingly from behind Kahlan's right shoulder. It is an effective combination.

"Our scouts should be reporting in soon. Do you want to meet with them, or should I?" Cara packs up the medicine kit, waiting for an answer.

"Do you ever wish that you didn't have to do this?" Cara looks up sharply; it wasn't like Kahlan to idly wonder about what-if's.

"What do you mean? If I didn't have to stitch you up? I'm sure we'd both prefer that, you more than me."

Kahlan rolls her eyes and lets a small smile appear, the first one Cara has seen in at least ten full days. “You know perfectly well that’s not what I meant.” Kahlan says, “I mean, do you ever wish that we could just live in peace, just be able to have a home and watch the sunset without worrying about an ambush when dark falls? Just, a peaceful life.” The Confessor closes her eyes and sighs before turning to look at her companion.

The Mord’Sith cocks her head to one side, inspecting Kahlan’s face carefully. “Are you going to cry?” Kahlan almost laughs, tears threatening to fall anyways. “Mord’Sith do not wish for peace; what would we do then?”

Cara sounds so genuinely puzzled that Kahlan grins and has to restrain herself from ruffling Cara’s hair – she’s reasonably sure a Mord’Sith would never stand for that kind of treatment. “I’m sure we’d be able to find you something to do, Cara,” she says. “I could teach you how to cook, since I’m sure you can’t get any worse.”

Cara stands and places her hands on her hips. “I’ll have you know that one of our squadrons ate my cornbread yesterday, the whole loaf, even.” She turns on her heel and marches resolutely away.

“They’re far too frightened to do anything else,” Kahlan says to her back, knowing the Mord’Sith would take it as a compliment.

Cara pauses and half-glances over her shoulder, smirking, “Obviously. I’m going to take over for watch. I’ll wake you in the morning.”

Nodding at nobody, Kahlan rests against the stump and stares up at the night sky, willing herself to relax enough to fall asleep. The stars shine back at her, constant and immovable, the only thing she can think of that hasn’t changed dramatically in the past few months. She closes her eyes and drifts off.

/

The night air is still and silent as Cara walks along the edge of the camp, her eyes focused on the heavy black of the forest. Though she is not the type of person who normally considers such things, she finds her mind drifting to the conversation she had with Kahlan. A life of peace was not something she had ever thought of having, or indeed even wanting, but she did acknowledge that her life situation had changed enough that her entire life view could have changed without her notice. Though a life of war definitely has its benefits, Cara knows that most do not agree with her, especially Kahlan.

If the war ended the next day, Kahlan would be happy finding a cabin in the woods and living off the land and Cara surprises herself by envisioning herself in that scenario. She knows her loyalties lie with the Mother Confessor, but had never realized how deep those loyalties were.

She stands perfectly still, considering what she’d do in peace. Every train of thought comes back to the same idea: protect Kahlan. Even in peaceful times, there are threats, and Cara intends to make sure that none of those threats come to fruition.

Looking up at the stars, she realizes that not too long before, she would have never watched the stars contemplatively. The night sky was not the beautiful image she sees now, but a place where nightmares lurked, where threats hid. She rather enjoys how the sky looks to her now, an image that shows her that no matter how dire the situation might be, the stars continue on as they always have. Not that she considers her place in life unimportant, but looking up made her feel, for a little while at least, that her problems weren’t the worst that they could be. She still had Kahlan, after all.

That name brought up a jumble of confusing emotions that she didn’t particularly want to handle while on patrol, when she should be alert to any danger. She has been finding herself staring at the Confessor for slightly longer than strictly necessary, watching Kahlan as she walks away and even getting irrationally angry at others who stare. The men in the resistance knew by now to not look too long when Cara was around as she may have threatened them with extreme pain once or twice. Cara preferred not to think about it at all.

She was jolted out of her reverie by a slight rustle coming from the dark forest to her left. Quietly, she pulled her daggers from their sheaths and crouched slightly, body completely tense. There is a whistling noise and Cara ducks her head to the side, feeling an arrow whip past her cheek and embed itself in the tree behind her. She leaps forward and slices the throat of a Baneling before spinning and catching another one in the jaw with the hilt.

“Banelings!” She shouts in the direction of the camp and feels relief sweep through her when she hears sounds of weapons being drawn. She eyes the forest warily – the Banelings have been getting better at staying quiet in hiding, no longer just rushing out to kill as soon as they can – but sees nothing. Turning, Cara sprints to the main camp, the clang of metal on metal getting louder in her ears.

Cara pulls the first Baneling she sees off the back of a young man and savagely twists its neck to the side, dropping it quickly and moving on to the next. She gets lost in the familiar feel of fighting and takes down everything that comes her way. When there are finally no more Banelings left, she claps one of her men on the shoulder and he looks at her gratefully, hands resting on his knees and breathing heavily.

She lifts her head to look for Kahlan and her heart nearly stops in her chest when she sees Kahlan kneeling to help one of the wounded with a Baneling moving to stand behind her.

_Richard is fighting three Banelings at the same time, focused on get his sword up in time to block every blow. He doesn't see a fourth one moving behind him and raising his sword._

_Metal flashes through the air._

“Kahlan!” She nearly screams the name, willing the Confessor to realize the danger she’s in.

Kahlan looks up, confused and worried, to see Cara’s stricken face. Then she hears a muffled groan behind her and she turns to see a Baneling falling to his knees, a dagger buried in his chest. Kahlan scrambles backwards and pulls herself to her feet. The Baneling drops, no longer moving, and Kahlan spins to see Cara standing on the opposite side of the camp, arm still extended to throw her dagger. Cara’s eyes are wide and if Kahlan didn’t know better, she would have called the expression in those blue eyes frightened.

The two women remain standing, motionless, and the rest of the resistance follows their lead, a silence descending over the camp. Finally, Cara lets her arm drop and Kahlan quickly makes her way over to her bodyguard.

Placing a hand on the Mord’Sith’s shoulder, she is surprised to feel Cara shaking slightly. “Cara? Are you alright?” She ducks to head to try and look Cara in the eyes.

“I’m fine.” Cara says, her mouth set in a thin line. She shrugs her shoulders pointedly, but Kahlan ignores her, just keeps staring at her with those green eyes. Cara feels something in her chest loosen and she closes her eyes. “I can’t let that happen again. Not again.” She opens her eyes and watches Kahlan’s eyebrows contract in confusion then relax in sudden comprehension.

“Oh, Cara –” Kahlan cuts herself off before she can say something that might embarrass the proud woman standing before her. She keeps her hand on Cara’s shoulder, her thumb rubbing unconsciously in a soothing rhythm. Blue eyes drop down to glance at her hand and she feels Cara stiffen and step back.

Cara opens her mouth, but pauses and seems to reconsider what she had planned on saying. Instead, she says “I’m going to get everyone to start packing up. We need to move on.” She turns on her heel, grabs one of the men by the ear – which would make Kahlan laugh, if the situation wasn’t so strange – and drags him over to the tents, dictating orders to the waiting resistance members.

Running a hand through tangled hair, Kahlan sighs, wondering at the lost moment, before walking to join in the packing of the gear.

/

They arrive at the nearest village just before noon and Kahlan walks up to the ridge overlooking the village to assess it.

Like most villages in the Midlands, it has no real fortifications, no way to defend themselves against a Baneling attack. Smoke drifts up from a few chimneys and Kahlan searches carefully until she finds smoke coming from the blacksmith’s forge. A blacksmith was one of the best assets in a war; the villagers would need weapons.

She looks over her shoulder at Cara and nods to the village before making her way down the ridge, pulling up her hood. Kahlan walks at the head of their party as they make their way into the village, one hand firmly grasping a dagger. Cara stays at her shoulder, eyes darting from window to window, always on alert.

The village seems deserted, so they walk to the main square and wait. Kahlan pulls down her hood, allowing her hair to tumble down her back. An audible gasp can be heard from nearby buildings and villagers come out of hiding at the sight of what must be the Mother Confessor. Cara had tried to make Kahlan cut her hair early on, but it remained a way for people to recognize her that she could hide by tying it up.

The villagers crowd around Kahlan, reaching out to touch the personification of all their hope. Kahlan smiles the smile she perfected as a girl and gives reassurances to worried questions and terrified eyes. Cara steps back and speaks quietly to the only two villagers with weapons on their hips, sending them to converse with some of her troops.

The Mord’Sith catches Kahlan’s eye and gives a nod. They will fight.

/

Cara stands silently behind the makeshift wooden wall at the edge of the village and waits. A birdcall drifts in on the wind and Cara holds up a hand, signalling fighters farther down the wall that the Banelings are coming. Bows are drawn and arrows nocked.

The first Baneling bursts over the ridge, sword waving in an untrained hand, and still Cara waits. Then another. And another.

When Banelings line the entire ridge, Cara’s arm drops and the sky goes dark with arrows. The fight begins.

/

Thread is tightened and a pained hiss makes its way through thinned lips. Blue eyes open and look down at the reopened wound, grimacing at the annoyance. Cara snips the thread and gives Kahlan a glance, she would swear it was admonishing, before turning to the next wounded villager.

As usual, Kahlan will leave behind a few of her people, taking with her any volunteers to replenish her forces. They were moving south, trying to keep ahead of the Banelings. Every day brought another village or town to defend and her resistance force was getting smaller.

The village elders give their sincere thanks to the Mother Confessor and provide them with enough provisions to last until the next village. Kahlan smiles at the gathered crowd and turns toward to forest, to where Cara is standing. Kahlan falls into step with the blonde and they move in silence for a time.

“What happens if we lose?” Kahlan asks into the comfortable silence, knowing that the rest of the group is far enough ahead not to hear a quiet conversation.

“We’ve lost villages before. Remember Norhaven? We had to evacuate everyone inside.” Cara says with a grimace; she does not respond well to defeat.

“No, I don’t mean lose a village. I mean what if we lose too many fighters to continue? What if we actually  _lose_?” Kahlan usually tries to keep thoughts like this as far from her mind as she can, but it’s hard right after battle, right after she sees people she knows die in her name.

There is silence and Kahlan turns to look at Cara. The Mord’Sith is looking at her with an almost pained expression on her face before her trained mask slides into place. “Kahlan, we will fight for as long as we can.” When Kahlan doesn’t look particularly comforted by this, she continues, “I will fight for you until my dying breath.”

Kahlan closes her eyes and tries to ignore the rapid beating of her heart. “That’s what scares me most, Cara.” She turns her eyes on the blonde and Cara stares back for a moment. She looks away and Kahlan says, “I hate that people fight for me, that people die for me. I hate that you might.”

Cara’s hands grip her knives, wishing for the comforting pain on an Agiel. She glances at the brunette staring at her intently and clenches her jaw tightly, stopping any words from being spoken. Cara looks back down the path and purposely lengthens her strides. Kahlan sighs and knows their conversation is over.

/

Kahlan slides the whetstone down her dagger, testing the edge occasionally against the pad of her thumb. A commotion of noise draws her attention to the southern edge of the camp and she draws her other dagger before making her way over. Cara is already there glaring at a young man bent over gasping for breath.

“Cara, what did you do to him?” Kahlan asks sharply when she arrives. Cara just raises an eyebrow in her direction, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

The man straightens when he hears Kahlan’s voice and manages to speak, “Mother Confessor, I bring news from the south.” He looks nervously at Cara, who is standing by Kahlan, arms folded over her chest. At Kahlan’s nod, he continues, “An army of Banelings and servants of the Keeper is gathering at Torbyn Castle. And there’s more, it is said that Darken Rahl himself is leading them.”

Loud murmuring bursts out from the gathered crowd and Cara spins on her heel and marches to her tent. Kahlan watches her go and runs a hand through her hair, gathering her thoughts. She opens her mouth to speak but is interrupted by Cara exiting her tent and the familiar hum of the magic of the Agiels. Cara’s blue eyes meet Kahlan’s and a decision is instantly made.

“Silence,” Kahlan does not truly raise her voice but a quiet descends on the crowd. “Pack up everything necessary for light travel and battle. We will travel as fast as possible to Torbyn Castle when everyone is ready. Send messages to every resistance group you can think of and tell them to meet us there. Let’s move.” People move to dismantle tents and pack bags immediately and Kahlan catches Cara’s eye, nodding to her bedroll.

Glancing around to ensure privacy, Kahlan speaks in a low voice, “Torbyn Castle is a defensive fortress. Darken would want to attack, not defend. Something is off.”

“He has the Stone of Tears. It’s the only reason why he would gather his forces like that. He’s protecting it with everything he has this time.”

They share a look, preparing themselves for what is to come. “So we ride to war, then.” There is no question in Kahlan’s words; they have been anticipating this moment for months.

Cara nods and tightens her grip on her Agiels.

/

Cara yanks the heavy door open, swinging her Agiel into the face of the guard who rushes out. “Kahlan,” she calls over her shoulder, “over here.”

Slipping her blade out from under a Mord’Sith’s armour, Kahlan carefully watches the entranceway they had come through and moves quickly to where Cara is standing. Peering into the dark corridor beyond the door, Kahlan says, “They’re coming down through that door we blocked and will be here any minute. If they catch us in here, we won’t have much of a chance. That corridor would make us easy targets.

Cara watches Kahlan with a steady gaze. “That’s why I’m staying here to guard your back. You’ll go through and get the Stone; Rahl is distracted by the men attacking the main entrance. Almost no one knows about this entrance, you won’t meet anyone along the way.”

She wants to protest, but Kahlan knows what is at stake. They need to get the Stone of Tears and Cara would die to see that come to pass, though Kahlan will try her hardest to make sure that never happens. “Alright. Good luck, Cara.”

The blond nods and begins to turn away to take up a defensive position by the entrance. Kahlan stops her with a hand on her arm. “Thank you, for standing with me this entire journey.”

Cara clenches her jaw, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “Where else would I be?”

Kahlan smiles in return, leans in to quickly press a kiss to Cara’s cheek and disappears down the corridor. Cara reaches up to touch her cheek before shaking herself and dropping into position just as the sounds of oncoming soldiers reaches her ears. She smiles grimly and raises her arms, ready for battle.

/

Kahlan sits on her throne, a hand rubbing her temples to try and dispel the headache that has been plaguing her. 

"Do you wish to see any more supplicants today, Mother Confessor?" Her aide stands deferentially to her side, a folder of papers awaiting her signature in his hand. 

She waves her hand, gesturing for him to give her the folder. "No, that is enough for today. Please tell them that I will be glad to see them tomorrow morning." He bows and leaves the room. Leafing through the papers, Kahlan barely registers the small click of the door at the back of the room closing. 

"Mother Confessor?"

Kahlan looks up to see Cara standing beside her. "Cara," she says, "I didn't expect you back from the borders so soon."

"The bandits were easily quelled, Kahlan. They were disorganized and almost not worth my time."

Kahlan smiles at the words, “Well, I’m glad they didn’t give you too much trouble." Kahlan reaches out to push a lock of hair behind Cara's ear, smiling when Cara’s eyelashes flutter slightly at the contact.

“You have that little line on your forehead.” Kahlan blinks at the seeming non-sequitur and just waits for Cara to explain. “You get it whenever your head starts hurting.”

The headache had actually receded since Cara had walked into the room, but judging from that slightly guarded look on Cara’s face, Kahlan decides to leave that for another day. “I’ll be fine; I had some tea earlier for it.”

“Fine. Are you done for the day?” When Kahlan shakes her head, Cara takes up her usual protective stance by Kahlan’s throne, eyes wandering around the room in a random pattern.

Smiling at the familiar action, Kahlan looks back down at her papers. There is still much for them to do.

/ /

_Fin._


End file.
